


Keep it wet

by mildmanneredmissy



Series: Wet Is Always Better [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV Derek Hale, Wet Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildmanneredmissy/pseuds/mildmanneredmissy
Summary: 4 + 1 times wet Stiles wrecks havoc on Derek





	Keep it wet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mostly_empty_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostly_empty_space/gifts).



> My thanks to dirtyprettythings for Beta-help and mostly_empty_space for help and inspiration, without you this ficlet would not exist.

1  
The first time Derek ever saw Stiles wet, they had just been pulled out of the high school swimming pool. They had escaped the threat of the Kanima, Stiles had kept a paralysed Derek from drowning for hours. They were exhausted, both mentally and physically.

This was the start of Derek’s troubles. Derek’s troubles with a wet Stiles, to be exact. Derek’s life was fraught with trouble but this particular one was vexing him in more ways than his regular, ‘trying to stay alive in Beacon Hills’ troubles.

The moments after the pool ordeal had Derek at a vulnerable state of mind: tired yet relieved to be alive, finding himself in a debt of life to this teenager, who had put his own life in danger to save him. The kid had jumped into the deep end and kept him afloat while a creepy lizard creature stalked them from the edge of the pool.

And the way he looked at Derek now, it was like he could see to the core of what made Derek who he was. Saw and understood. And didn’t flinch and run away from the danger in front of him. The kid looked him in the eye without hesitation. His eyes - how were his eyes so big? Like Bambi’s eyes. With long thick lashes. That had a drop of water still clinging to them.

Derek felt himself getting paralysed again, this time by the pull of those huge eyes. He had to snap himself out of it. He didn’t know where his mind was trying to go with this track of thought and he refused to examine it further. He owed the kid, that was clear, but that was the end of it. No teenage ball of angst and hormones was going to distract him. Anymore. He’d find a way to pay his debt and then he’d be able to carry on with his life.

If those amber eyes haunted his dreams for weeks following their pool incident, well that was just because of the adrenaline rush of the moment. The dreams would stop soon enough.

The dreams did not stop.

 

2  
The second time was inevitable, really. By that time, Derek helping Scott, Stiles and the Scooby gang save Beacon Hills’ unsuspecting citizens from supernatural threats was a weekly habit. It was a thing they did. A baddie appeared in town, Stiles figured out how to beat it, they all risked their lives to follow the overly complicated plan Stiles came up with, a few bruises, some broken property and baddie be by-gone.

Beacon Hills was also subjected to more and more frequent bouts of rain, making Derek question if they were actually still in California or had some mystical entity transported the town to Washington state. 

These frequent happenstances resulted in Derek and Stiles getting caught in a rainstorm, while trying to find a particular strain of fern needed in a concoction Deaton was brewing. The ancient text Deaton was using as a recipe, had specified that the fern should be collected during summer solstice but it did not mention anything about actual sunlight so they’d figured a fern collected under a cloud coverage would still work.

The rain started just as they arrived at the hillside where the fern was likely to be found. Derek didn’t mind the rain itself. Summer rain felt nice on his skin, heated by the midsummer warmth. It was only when the rain had soaked Stiles’ t-shirt thoroughly, that Derek cursed the rain, summer and Stiles’ choice of thin cotton shirt.

The months - almost two years now - they’d spent perfecting their supernatural rescue operations, together with Coach’s ruthless lacrosse training schedule, had turned Stiles’ awkward teenage body of wiry limbs to that of a young man in his peak physical condition. This transformation had not gone unnoticed by Derek but he refused to acknowledge both the physical change and his own interest in it. Whenever he caught his eyes lingering on Stiles’ arms or the span of his shoulders, he quickly diverted himself by grabbing whatever object was closest to him or simply removing himself from the vicinity of Stiles.  If Derek was grabbing random objects or running off with a feeble excuse more and more frequently, it was nobody’s business but his. And he wasn’t talking about it even with himself. This, whatever this was, would surely run its course soon enough and he could get back to living his life void of annoying teenagers and their broad shoulders, veiny arms and eyes that were always locking with his own.

But there was nothing to distract him now. No book to grab and pretend to read. No “I’ll just get a glass of water” ruse. He couldn’t leave Stiles to find the fern alone so he couldn’t just take off, no matter how much that thought appealed to him.

No, this time he was just going to have to suck it up and actually not let his eyes roam over Stiles’ body. Despite how tantalisingly the t-shirt clung to his torso. Revealing the slope of his back. And the outline of his abs. And pecs. And - dear lord - his nipples. Which seemed to perk up under Derek’s gaze.

Derek whipped his head around and stomped to a fallen tree with the pretence of examining the shrubbery underneath it. The quicker they found the damn plant, the faster he’d be rid of Stiles. And that’s exactly what Derek wanted. To be as far away from Stiles as possible. 

Because the kid - young man, his mind reminded - was annoying. With his constant word diarrhoea. And a tendency to tap his long fingers on tables, steering wheels and unsuspecting werewolves’ shoulders or arms. And those damn eyes that looked right into his soul, as if he could read Derek like an open book. And that mouth that had not learned to use a straw properly, after all these years. And those arms with their muscles and hair and water sliding down them…

“Hey, I think I found it!” Stiles’ exclamation made Derek aware that he’d been staring at the younger man over his shoulder, without a conscious decision on his part. Stiles crouching over to yank a bunch of ferns out of the ground made Derek also aware of the way Stiles’ soaked khakis clung to his thighs and stretched over his ass.

“Good. Great. We’re done here”, Derek croaked with a dry mouth. “You know your way back to the Jeep, right?” And he was off, running anywhere but here, where his own wet jeans were starting to feel too constricting all of a sudden.

“Derek, what the hell? Not cool, man!” echoed in his ears as he tore through the forest, actively not thinking about why he felt both relieved and somehow hollow the further he run from Stiles.

 

3  
Not long after the fern-episode, Derek started to suspect that something in his past was messing with his present day karma. The distraction that was Stiles, was starting to seriously disrupt his otherwise as-peaceful-as-could-be life.

His book-grabbing, running-to-the-other-room behaviour was starting to get noticed. He was getting looks from the pack. He could shrug off the looks from the others but when Stiles locked those amber, all-seeing-eyes on his, he could feel the blush on his neck and cheeks. 

Derek was still a firm believer in ignoring the problem and convinced that this phase where his eyes kept finding Stiles with increasing frequency, would be over soon. No reason to delve into the reasons of a temporary lack of eye-control.

But seriously, this had to be a punishment for something. The whole pack had been canvassing the forest in search of signs of a possible omega werewolf passing through the territory. Beacon Hills was going through a very rare dry spell - it hadn’t rained since summer solstice - and the dry undergrowth was crumbling beneath their feet.

So how was it possible, that Stiles could stumble and fall into an actual puddle of water, almost a foot deep? The man in question looked every bit as baffled as he stood up, looked down at his wet self and then back up to gape open-mouthed at the rest of the pack.

As soon as everyone saw that the only victim of Stiles’ tumble had been the state of his clothes, the pack exploded in raucous laughter. Even Stiles chuckled as Scott helped him back to solid ground. The odds of finding a pool of water big enough to soak a grown man in a bone dry forest, and to actually fall into said pool, were comically low. Stiles shrugged and laughed off the mishap, wringing out the bottom of his shirt.

Derek, meanwhile, was frozen to the spot, taking in the sight of yet another shirt and pants plastered on Stiles like a second skin. His greedy eyes spotted the exposed skin of Stiles’ waist where his shirt had ridden up as he tried to squeeze water off of it. Derek’s fingers twitched involuntarily like his hand was already preparing to run over Stiles’ abdomen.

Derek felt light-headed, his heart was beating like he’d sprinted the 100-yard dash and all the blood it was pumping seemed to be heading to a very specific location of his lower body. His mind blank, Derek took a step toward Stiles, not really knowing why. 

His hands felt restless, like they wanted to settle on something other than his own thighs. He wanted to grab Stiles by his biceps and draw him close to his chest. Against his chest. He wanted to feel Stiles’ heart beat against his own. He wanted to run his cheek against Stiles’ cheek and dip down to place his lips on Stiles’ neck. He wanted… He wanted so much.

Stiles shook his head like a dog to get the water from his hair. A few drops landed on Derek’s face and the shock of the cool water on his skin released a noise he didn’t recognise as his own. Stiles shot a concerned look at Derek and asked: “Hey Derek, you alright, man? You look a little flushed.”

Derek cleared his throat, suddenly aware of everyone’s attention on him. He saw Lydia whisper something in Stiles’ ear and the younger man’s eyes rake over Derek and go wide with something like.. recognition. 

“I’m fine. If everyone’s ready to continue, we still have ground to cover. Stiles, you should probably go back home and get changed”, Derek grumbled and started walking determinately ahead, without looking if the others were following suit. “Nah, I’m good, the sun will dry this stuff before I get home anyway”, he heard Stiles reply. 

Stiles’ stumble broke the tension that had been over the pack while they searched for the omega and the rest of the afternoon felt like a walk in the woods, everyone chatting and laughing like the careless teenagers they ought to be. But all through the light-hearted chatter, Derek could see from the corner of his eye, how Stiles kept stealing glances at him, a small smile on his lips.

With growing dread, Derek was starting to think that his problem was not going to be ignored away.

 

4  
By the end of August Derek was a wreck. The magnetic pull Stiles had on him had only increased with time. Derek’s eyes zeroed in on Stiles the second either of them entered a room and even though Derek tried to keep a deliberate distance to the younger man, Stiles always seemed to end up within an arm’s reach of him, his fingers ghosting over Derek’s back or arm when he passed him.

Derek’s own mind was his worst enemy, providing him with imaginary scenes of Stiles clutching those fingers in his back while he pinned Stiles to the couch with his body, attacking his mouth with his own. When Stiles smiled and winked at him, he imagined what Stiles would look like crawling toward him on a bed, with that knowing smirk, eyes set with intent. When Stiles leaned over and whispered commentary to his ear during movie nights, his eyes glazed over with images of Stiles raining kisses over his neck, chest, abdomen and lower still.

His overactive imagination and Stiles’ persistent habit of invading his personal space was resulting in a constant state of arousal, which in turn led to knowing looks from the other wolves. And Lydia, who didn’t need super-senses to read people. To Derek’s mortification, the pack had started cultivating double-entendres and thinly veiled innuendos for him to “step up to the plate” and “just do it already”, as Erica so subtly put it.

But Derek refused to subject Stiles to the awkwardness of having to acknowledge Derek’s blind lust for him. He valued Stiles’ friendship and his contribution to the pack too much to ruin everything with his crush. He could keep it to himself. All it took was to start placing cushions on his lap to hide the inevitable boners and keep his arms crossed over his chest to keep his hands in check. No problem, he’s got this.

Turns out, he didn’t have it.

It all came to an end after a friendly game of softball. The hot, end of summer day had slipped into twilight while they run after hits and rounded bases. They finally called it a draw - no-one was really keeping score anyway - and gathered together, sharing the last of the drinks from the cooler.

The exercise and the calm of the hazy evening air had lulled Derek into a soft stupor that left his guard down and his mind relaxed. So much so that he allowed his eyes to track Stiles, smiling a soft, fond smile. Stiles took his now customary seat next to Derek and Derek’s eyes feasted on the way Stiles’ damp hair curled on his forehead and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he took a swig from the soda bottle Isaac passed him. 

In his content buzz of drinking in Stiles, Derek failed to notice the wordless communication between the rest of the pack. Heads were nodding, eyebrows were wiggling, soundless words were mouthed until finally Isaac jumped up, grabbed the cooler and dumped what was left of the melted ice all over Stiles.

Stiles let out a shriek and was left momentarily just blinking and gasping for air as the shock of the cold water settled over him. Then he sprang into action shouting “Oh you are going to pay for that!” at Isaac. With a tug and a short struggle with the wet material, Stiles pulled his shirt over his head and threw it at Isaac’s face. Isaac yelped and flung the still dripping cloth straight into Scott’s laughing face.

What followed was a boisterous game of hot potato with Stiles’ shirt. While everyone else’s eyes tracked the shirt as it was bounced around the circle, Derek was unable to drag his eyes from the shirtless Stiles. Stiles, whose muscles tensed and relaxed as he jumped in excitement. Whose throat arched in a long column as he threw his head back and laughed out loud when Kira nailed Scott again with the shirt.

Derek licked his lips when he saw a drop of water slide down Stiles’ back and disappear into his shorts. He felt his body crouch and move up, predatory and instinctual, ready to pounce. His eyes were still glued to Stiles’ back, tracking the wet skin, the moles, the way his back curved and his ass was suddenly thrust toward Derek when Stiles bent down…

… And the wet shirt that missed Stiles, slapped into Derek’s face. The scent of Stiles surrounded Derek and he clutched the shirt to breathe in deep. It was intoxicating, dizzying, liberating. Derek felt his self-imposed constrictions slip away as the wolf within decided enough was enough.

The laughter and howls around him were dying but his ears honed in on a single heartbeat directly in front of him. He felt the buzz of energy beneath his skin, the excitement for the chase, the promise of a long awaited prize. 

Derek peeled the shirt from his face and dropped it to the ground. He heard a distant “Derek, you okay?” but didn’t bother to answer it or even spare a glance to whoever in the pack had said it. The sole focus of his attention was on Stiles. 

Stiles, who took in Derek’s tense posture, muscles ready to explode into action, his narrowed eyes and the predatory smile on Derek’s lips, whispered “This is it…” to no-one in particular. Stiles, who instead of turning and running before the wild thing lurking beneath Derek’s surface, relaxed his stance and smiled so brightly Derek felt it ignite a warmth deep inside him. 

“Come and get me, big guy”, was all Derek heard before he launched himself at Stiles. They were both prepared for the force of the collision but it still seemed to knock them breathless. But what was air when he had Stiles in his arms, pulling Derek in as hard as Derek was clutching Stiles. Their mouths slid against each other’s, no finesse or gentleness in the first contact that both had waited for too long.

He felt Stiles’ hands everywhere: on his shoulders, his back, quick and eager squeeze on his ass before they settled in his hair, trying to tilt Derek’s head to slot their mouths more perfectly together. His own hands slid over Stiles’ ass, grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. Keeping Stiles firmly pressed to his front, Derek dared to remove his lips from Stiles’ and started carrying him towards the Jeep with hurried strides. 

The pack was hollering and whistling behind them, some shouting encouragement and a few “Fucking finally!” and “I called it; before college starts. Pay up, Isaac.” None of it mattered to Derek, he had his prize and a list of fantasies to make into memories.

“And Lydia said my flirting was ‘ineffective’, ha! I knew I’d get you to break, I’m irresistible”, Stiles mumbled into his neck between sloppy kisses and little nips. Derek pushed him against the Jeep and kissed him long and hard. “Get in”, he said to Stiles, pulling the Jeep door open. “Stay away from the loft!” he shouted at the rest of the pack. “At least a week!” Stiles hollered before speeding off with a shower of pebbles from the Jeep’s tires.

 

+1  
Derek balanced the load of groceries in his arms as he maneuvered the apartment door closed behind him. He’d gone a bit overboard at the deli but it was a special occasion. He had plans for tonight. Big plans. Plans that started with a ridiculous amount of delicious food and ended with two thoroughly satisfied bodies cuddling in bed.

He heard the shower running and smiled, content in the knowledge that he had time to get a start on the food before the love of his life would barge into the kitchen and commandeer his attention with his recount of the day or just by pressing against his back and kissing his neck. After that cooking would take twice as long, what with all the little kisses they exchanged in between their chatting. They were disgustingly in love and didn’t care who saw it.

“Happy anniversary, big guy.” Derek heard from behind and turned on his heels. Stiles leaned against the kitchen island, his dripping wet clothes collecting a small puddle at his bare feet. 

“You took a shower with your clothes on. You realise that shirt is practically see-through when wet?” Derek didn’t really have to ask the question, the smirk on Stiles’ face told him it was quite intentional. “It’s the anniversary of our first round of the most amazing sex known to mankind. I wanted to commemorate the thing that started it all.”

“Those wet clothes look really uncomfortable, let’s get you out of them”, Derek rumbled as he advanced on Stiles, his eyes running over his boyfriend’s retreating form. “Come and get me” Stiles yelled as he turned and sprinted towards their bedroom, Derek hot on his heels, the food forgotten on the kitchen counter.


End file.
